The Greatest Time of Year
by Ky-lassassin
Summary: Because the Christmas season means something different to everyone... A series of oneshots about Christmas and what it means to the various HP characters.
1. Bellatrix Black

The Greatest Time of Year

**A/N: Yes, these are fics centered around Christmastime and what it means to various HP characters. Yes, I know Christmas is over, but I'm writing it anyway, because I had the plot-bunnies and I couldn't wait until next year.**

**A late Christmas present for **_**MBC**_**, just in case I forget to bring in the chocolate truffles for him. XD**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

Bellatrix Black

**s h a t t e r**

_(and she's just a stupid little girl with her hopes too high and feelings much too strong)_

Bellatrix had not celebrated Christmas for many, many years. It was her mother's fault, though, for it was that one awful day that started her hatred of the holiday.

It started off as a typical Black family Christmas. Bella was much younger then, only about seven years old. Kreacher was decorating the tree, and Druella, her mother, was supervising. Andi and Cissy were both far too young to help, but she, Bella, had her own hopes for the year. For many days leading up to the tree decorating, she had locked the door to her room and worked in secret on her own little "project". When it was finished, she was quite proud of it – and she was sure her mother would love it too.

_(and that was her first mistake)_

So Bellatrix ran up the stairs to her room, grabbing her creation from the vanity in her room. She raced back to her mother, clutching a rag-doll-like figure in her hands.

"Mother," she asked hopefully, showing her mother the doll, "could we please use this for the top of the tree?"

_(and that was her second mistake)_

Druella Black looked sharply down at her young daughter. "Bellatrix, where in the name of Merlin did you get that monstrosity?" Without waiting for an answer, she added, "The goblin-made crystal star is much better, don't you think?"

Bella looked dejectedly at the lumpy doll in her hands. It was crudely made; it had choppy black yarn hair and two mismatched buttons as eyes. It was almost like a regular doll, except it had no legs and its dress was hollowed out so that it could fit on the top of the tree.

"Of course, Mother," she answered, faking a smile. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Her mother nodded distractedly, turning back to the tree. Bella flew out of the room, hot tears stinging her eyes. She took the doll back to her room and threw it into a trunk, where it would inevitably stay for the next long years.

But she knew better than to stay moping for long. Her mother would then get angrier with her, and then she'd have to spend time locked in the attic or in the basement for "acting up" and "being fresh". So, instead, Bella walked back downstairs, blinking away her tears and putting on her brightest fake smile.

"Mother, can I help with anything?" she asked sweetly, walking back into the living room.

Her mother looked at her. "Actually, Bella, could you be a dear and put the star on top of the tree? Kreacher and I have to step away for a moment. Can you handle it?"

Bellatrix forced a smile. "Of course, Mother," she answered.

Kreacher handed her the delicate glass star, saying, "Be careful, Miss Bella." Bellatrix nodded solemnly.

Druella walked out of the room with Kreacher scurrying at her heels. Bellatrix climbed onto the first step of the ladder that had been left out. As she stood at the top, she realized that she still couldn't reach the top of the tree. She stretched, standing on her tip toes, but still couldn't get the base of the star to reach the top of the tree.

In an instant, the star slipped from her hands and fell to the ground, shattering. Bellatrix looked guiltily towards the hallway where her mother had left, but nobody came running; either nobody had heard, or nobody cared.

She climbed carefully back down the ladder, looking at the shards of crystal. The damage was irreversible, she knew, for magic didn't affect goblin-made items. Stealing one last look at the broken star, she then walked out of the room without sparing a backward glance.

-x-

Bellatrix looked disgustedly at the ragged doll that had once caused her so much pain. She was an adult now, and didn't bother with hope and foolishness like that. She had learned not to expect much from people. She scowled again; the doll really _was_ ugly, but she couldn't help but feel that everything would have been different if her mother had just let her use it as the tree-topper.

In her living room, in her own house now, there was no Christmas tree, though Christmas Day was tomorrow. There were no silver bells, no candy canes and mistletoe. There was, however, a fire, raging wildly in the fireplace, yearning to be free.

In a sudden movement, she cast the doll into the fireplace, where it was instantly enveloped in flames. She didn't watch it burn. She was just glad to finally be rid of it.

_(and that was her last mistake)

* * *

_

**A/N: Another Bella fic, just 'cause I love her so. I'd like to think she wasn't always evil and crazy, she just became that way due to her dysfunctional family and pureblood obsession. And then her Voldy obsession. XD**

**I know the thing in the parenthesis is supposed to end with "especially for a boy like him", but the rest of it fit so well I decided to chop the ending off. ;)**

**Anyway, please leave a review!**


	2. Molly Prewett Weasley

The Greatest Time of Year

**A/N: A very, very late Christmas/slightly late birthday present for **_itssmee_**, who doesn't **_**actually**_** have a fanfiction account but wanted a fic anyway.**

Molly (Prewett) Weasley

**s p i r i t**

_(gone, but never forgotten)_

Christmas at the Weasleys' was always busy.

It was probably because they had such a large family, or because Christmas was such a big holiday for all of Britain, but for some reason, the Christmas season always made Molly Weasley feel a bit…lost.

Lost in the shuffle, maybe, caught up in the tide. Swept away by the current, among the many Weasley and Prewett relatives always coming and going.

And then, of course, it was never the same without _them_. Her two brothers, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, long gone. Gone, but not really. She thought back to what many had told her after they had been killed: _They're never really gone. They'll live on, in your heart and your memory…_

And they did. Sometimes it was too much; sometimes she would be reminded of them at the most inopportune moments. A phrase she remembered one of _them_ using when they were kids would be used in lightly conversation, and then it was all she could do not to start crying.

And now, this Christmas day was only bittersweet at best. Because Christmas had always been _their_ favorite holiday, and after they were gone (but not really gone, never), it wasn't the same. Molly watched her family – minus Bill and Charlie, who didn't come home for the holidays – opening presents: Percy, already reading the book Arthur had given him; Fred and George, finally distinguishable in their monogrammed sweaters; Ron, examining a Quidditch catalog; and Ginny, testing out the latest blush by _Enchanting Beauty_.

Her eyes lingered on Fred and George, who were now making fun of Ginny for using the makeup.

"Trying to impress somebody, Ginny?" Fred asked innocently.

"Is there a boy we should know about?" George added.

Ginny flushed scarlet – matching her hair – and Molly could see nearly the same scene unfold in her old home, many years ago.

She was almost a teenager back then, about to go to her friend Laura's during the summer when –

"Ooh, Molly, where're you going?" came Gideon's lofty voice as he walked into the hall.

She scowled. "None of your business," she answered haughtily, making a move towards the door.

Fabian, following his brother's lead, added, "All dolled up, Molly?" Then he faked a gasp, adding, "Are you out to see a _boy_?"

Molly remembered her cheeks turning bright red, like they always did when she was uncomfortable.

"Leave me alone!" she snapped, throwing the door open and storming out. She remembered so clearly the rage directed towards her brothers that day. Molly sighed in spite of herself. What wouldn't she give to have them here, making fun of her again…

"Mum?" Ron's voice snapped her out of her trancelike state. "Mum, are you okay?"

Self-consciously, she realized that it was dead silent in the room and her entire family was staring at her. With another jolt of surprise, she realized that there were tears in her eyes, stinging and burning, clouding her vision.

"Molly?" asked Arthur tentatively.

"What's that?" She faked a laugh that even she could tell was much too loud to be natural. "Oh, I'm fine, just got a bit sentimental at the whole Christmas scene, you know."

Ron shrugged and turned back to his catalog; Arthur looked unconvinced but went back to reading _Magic and Muggles: How to Act Natural_.

"Mother –"

"I'm _fine_, Percy, really," she said, cutting her son off in a much sharper tone than she had intended to use.

"Okay…" he looked back at her uncertainly, but she turned away.

Molly sighed inwardly. She would deal with her memories of Gideon and Fabian later. For now, all that mattered was making the best of the time she had with her family.

_Molly?_

_Yes, Fabian? You can come in, you know._

_I'm sorry for always bothering you, Molly._

_It's okay, I don't mind…most of the time._

_Molly?_

_Fabian?_

_I love you, Molly._

_I love you too, Fabian._

_Always?_

_Always._

**A/N: Gosh, I have no idea how old the Weasley kids were in this fic. Ron was probably about 10-ish, so that'd be the last Christmas before he went to Hogwarts. And since the Prewett brothers' ages were never specified in relation to Molly's age, let's say that Gideon was thirteen, Molly was twelve, and Fabian was nine.**


	3. Luna Lovegood Scamander

The Greatest Time of Year

**A/N: Yes! Finally done with all the Christmas gifts I owe! So…this one's for **_Rye_**, who pushed me to update and has a very high IQ. **

Luna (Lovegood) Scamander

**c r a z y – f o r – y o u**

_(touch me once and you'll know it's true)_

Luna Scamander always loved Christmas. It was just such a happy time, even when there wasn't a lot of family coming and going. Christmases, like this one, were nice even when they were quiet. This year, she was having a low-key celebration with her husband, Rolf – this was their first Christmas together as a married couple, and they had agreed to keep it private. The two had exchanged gifts in the morning and then eaten Freshwater Plimpie soup for supper.

As the sun had almost set beyond the horizon, Luna and her husband decided to relax by the fireplace. He was reading a book by the light given off from the fire and the many thin vanilla-scented candles she had lit around the house, and she was snuggling into his arm, dozing off.

She had almost fallen asleep completely when the soft _pitter-patter_ of rain on the windowpane woke her. Startled, she raised her head, blonde hair falling messily across her face.

"It's raining," she whispered excitedly.

"Yes, Luna, it is," answered Rolf agreeably. But Luna already had that look in her eyes – still protuberant, as they had been when she was a child – that clearly said "Idea!"

But Rolf knew better than to stop her. Usually with Luna, it was best to just go along with whatever plan she had created, so long as it wasn't potentially dangerous.

"So let's go outside!" Luna exclaimed. She was already standing up, reaching one hand out to help him to his feet.

"Outside? Why?" Rolf asked. He put his book down nevertheless and stretched.

"Because we might finally get a chance to see a Snapping Snorklehorse! They love the rain!" Luna explained, tugging at his arm. "Come on, hurry!"

Rolf sighed. Life with Luna was never dull, that was for certain.

"Okay, let's go," he relented, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "You're mad, you know that?"

Luna just laughed it off, but she remembered with a pang how the kids at Hogwarts would call her "Loony Lovegood" and make fun of her in secret. She'd never really let on how much that upset her…

"But," Rolf continued, pulling on his own cloak, "that's why I love you so much."

He kissed her softly on the lips and she smiled, throwing open the door.

"To the Snapping Snorklehorses!" he cried and the both laughed, walking out into the rain hand in hand.

**A/N: I know I used "crazy" and "mad" interchangibly here, but oh well. "Crazy for you" is actually a Madonna song (don't ask), and the lyrics in italics belong to her. The Snapping Snorklehorse is just something I made up for this fic. Review?**


	4. George Weasley

The Greatest Time of Year

**A/N: Dedicated to **_Gare de Lyon_**, a wonderful reader and reviewer. **

Disclaimer: I do not own **Harry Potter**

George Weasley

**b i t t e r s w e e t**

_(of cupcakes and frosting, memories and lost love)_

George Weasley glanced into the kitchen furtively. His wife, Angelina, had baked cupcakes to bring over to her mother-in-law's house for Christmas dinner tomorrow night. She sat at the table, expertly slathering real French buttercream icing – courtesy of Fleur's parents, who had come to Britain to spend Christmas with the Weasleys – onto each cupcake.

"Need some help, love?" he asked innocently.

"No," she replied shortly, picking up a new cupcake. "Besides, if I let you help, you'd just eat all the frosting."

He laughed, pulling out a chair and sitting next to her at the circular table.

"Give me the knife," he told her, but Angelina just shook her head and twisted away from him. He tickled her sides, causing her to shriek and squirm, writhing in the kitchen chair.

"Okay, okay," she relented, handing over the knife. "Just one."

She passed him the tin of frosting and he picked up a cupcake, carefully spreading on the frosting. George bit his lip in concentration, looking like a five-year-old trying not to scribble out of the lines in a colouring book.

"You know I do love you, right?" he asked softly, not looking up.

Angelina sighed, looking weary. "Yes, George, and you know I love you too. Just…"

"…not like that," he finished, and their eyes met in understanding. "Platonic, I believe the word is."

She sighed again, placing her hand over his. He glanced at her and saw that her eyes had a slight mistiness to them; she was thinking of _him_. Fred.

_The sky was gray and cloudy, fitting for the event. Fred's funeral was not a happy occasion, though on nearly any other, George would have been pulling pranks as if there were no tomorrow. But today was not happy. Today was not _normal.

_It was five days after the battle at Hogwarts. Everyone was wearing black dress robes and, after the ceremony, had divided themselves between clustering around the various Weasleys and Fred's coffin. _

_"George?" It was Angelina who stood behind him, looking timid._

_"…" He didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry?" Alicia, who had been her best friend, had also been killed in the battle, and George had gone to her funeral two days prior. He had seen Angelina there but didn't go up to her; he had no idea what to say. But now here they were: two peas in a pod._

_Fred had taken Angelina to the Yule Ball three years ago and they had continued to date after they graduated. George had – at Fred's urging – written Alicia a letter after he and Fred had "graduated" asking her to dinner. She had agreed, and they began to go out while she was still at Hogwarts. He had even planned on asking her to marry him, eventually…_

_"George?"_

_"Angelina." The words came out in a rush. "I saw you at Alicia's…I'm so sorry…" He trailed off awkwardly, wishing he could crack a joke and laugh off the uncomfortable silence that was settling._

_Finally, Angelina said, "Well, you know, I just came by because…if you ever need to talk…I mean, nobody understands your situation better than me, you know…so, if you ever need anything –"_

_"Marry me," he replied, surprising even himself. That wasn't what he wanted to say…_

_She hesitated, looking slightly shocked but still considerate. "You don't love me," she stated calmly. She was not angry or upset, just stating a fact._

_"Yes, I do," he answered sincerely, looking into her eyes, "I do love you."_

_It wasn't a lie; he did love her, though in more of a brother-sister way rather than as husband-wife. He loved her, but he wasn't _in_ love with her._

_"Okay," she answered softly, looking down. "I'll do it. I'll marry you."_

Angelina inhaled sharply, snapping him back to reality.

"You've had your turn," she said briskly, holding her hand out for the knife, "now give it back. I won't have you messing up my cupcakes for tomorrow."

Surprisingly obedient, George handed over the knife and the frosting.

"So, we're breaking the news to your family tomorrow," she continued in a businesslike tone.

"Mum will be sure to ask what we're naming him," answered George, his eyes drifting to Angelina's stomach.

But although they had never discussed it, both George and Angelina already knew what they wanted to name their baby boy.

**A/N: I actually really liked the ending, but wasn't so fond of the beginning half of Fred's funeral scene. Ehh. What did you think? R-E-W-I-E-W?**

**I know who I'm writing about for the next chapter, but after that, who do you guys want to see in here? I'm now taking requests!**


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